As Told Over Brunch is a home for intelligent discourse from the twenty-something perspective - so the stuff you gossip about over mimosas on Sunday morning or over takeout on your friend's couch when happy hour ends too early. We love chatting about our lives, whether it be the relationships we’re building (or destroying), lessons we've learned at work, struggles at school, growing pains we've felt, or even the food we’re talking over.

Yesterday I was checking out at a store when the cashier asked if I was a rewards member. “I am,” I told him, “but I can’t find my card.”

“Don’t worry. Can I have your phone number?”

I began to recite my number when the cashier went on: “Numbers are useful for stuff like this. And for stalking.”

A chuckle died in my throat.

Afterward, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He had been trying to make a joke—a very bad joke—but who hasn’t been there?

I am notorious among my friends for blurting out jokes that fall flat because I don’t change the inflection of my voice and people think I’m being serious, or I overthink and try to talk people through my thought process and I should just stop. “Sorry, I’m being too extroverted,” I feel like saying.

Like last night. I head an organization, and we had a retreat recently that someone missed. The person came up to me and apologized to me that they weren't there. I wanted to say, “Don’t worry about it,” but that would have been ignoring the fact the retreat was mandatory (whatever “mandatory” means in your 20s when I can't fire you). So I said, “No problem. You didn’t miss much. Well, you did, but we’ll go over it at our next meeting.”

The person stared at me. I don’t know why they were staring at me.

“It’s fine,” I went on. “I mean, it would have been better if you had been at the retreat. I don’t want to trivialize your absence. But it’s okay.”

They continued to stare at me.

Had I just out loud "I don't want to trivialize your absence"?

"I'll see you at the next meeting," I concluded.

The person did not make any move to leave.

"Have a good night." I walked away.

Last week I attended a dinner hosted by the president of my university. We were asked to identify ourselves and share a random fact. Of all the facts I could have conjured up – I want to join the Peace Corps, I write for the best blog in the world, etc. – I decided to tell everyone I’ve owned a bird since she was four-weeks-old.

Long pause.

“It’s really weird,” I repeated and looked at my plate.

What is wrong with me?

Basically, I hate silence so I blurt out the most uncomfortable things at inappropriate times or I’m just not thinking. When Making a Murderer came out in January, I happened to be out with some friends and I asked if they had seen it. None of us had, so I suggested we start it afterward.

My friend made a face, so I added, “It’s gotten really good reviews. My roommates have already binged on it.”

Friend: “I’d rather not.”

Me: “Okay, well, don’t watch it without me.”

Later my friend asked why I would bring that up. It totally slipped my mind my friend’s brother had been killed in suspicious circumstances in high school. I still cringe at my bull-in-the-china-closet moment.

Last fall, I went to Shields Market in the Fan of Richmond (a convenience grocery store if you will). Starved, I debated between a grilled chicken wrap or some chicken and orzo dish in their refrigerated section. I asked the cashier which he preferred. He pondered for a moment, then said, “That might be the hardest question I’ve ever been asked.”

Me: “You obviously never went to grade school.”

My friend:

“Cazey!”

I didn’t mean to be an asshole! I’m sorry!

At least the cashier laughed at my joke?

And at least I wasn’t the kid who came up to me last week in the gym. I had been doing pullups and could tell he wanted to use the equipment, so I asked if he wanted to work in. His response?

“I just need to hang myself.”

What did you say?

He proceeded to hang himself from the pullup bars – by his arms. Phew!

I’m trying to censor my words as of late. It can be difficult. Only this week I was running a meeting and the presidential primaries came up. “Everyone should go out and vote,” I instructed the room. “Unless you’re voting for Trump.”

Now I’m not one to be politically divisive, and given that Donald Trump was leading the Republican field, it’s probable there was a Trump supporter in the crowd. (But seriously you’re voting for Trump? I’m not saying vote for Bernie or Hillary either. But Trump?)